


Diamonds and Gum Wrappers

by nwhepcat



Category: Smallville
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Pre-Series, Romance, Smallville - Freeform, jonathan kent - Freeform, martha kent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-21
Updated: 2009-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 12:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nwhepcat/pseuds/nwhepcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan makes a wildly romantic gesture for the woman he wants to marry. (And since it's Jonathan, this involves a truck.) A story in drabbles. Pre-series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diamonds and Gum Wrappers

**Author's Note:**

> Written after hearing an NPR story about the "Hands on a Hardbody" contest and documentary and thinking, "Jonathan Kent would hate something like that.... So what would make him do that?" (Which is the thought process behind many a runaway bunny.) The answer: Love and Kent hard-headedness. Dedicated to Huzzlewhat, who shares my love for hard-headed secondary characters. I joked when I started this that it was a fic with an audience of two, but I was nicely surprised.
> 
> Ignore the word count; HTML tags and other tidbits add to the word count, but this was written at 100 words per segment.

Something about this goes against his grain.

Making a spectacle of desperation. Two dozen people willing to stand in the fishbowl of a truck dealership, with one hand on a shiny new truck until all the others give up and drop out. Something for nothing, but it's sure as hell not free.

They make you wear white gloves and their bright yellow t-shirt. He saw the contest on the news last year and thought these idiots looked like Mickey Mouse.

When entry opens, Jonathan goes down to the dealership, fills out a slip.

Things are different this year.

There's Martha.

***

It's fitting somehow that her hair is the color of bright copper pennies. She comes from money, a family that never had to worry about anything. She swears it doesn't matter to her that a farmer's life is a constant struggle, that every year depends on the mercy or cruelty of nature.

Martha loves him and believes in him, and doesn't particularly care that he's driving a truck pushing 200,000 miles. But it matters to him. That shiny red truck feels like a sign.

Proof that, whatever her father thinks, he'll be able to provide for her and their children.

***

He hasn't officially asked yet, but Martha knows he will and he knows her answer.

There's a revolving restaurant at the top of a skyscraper in Metropolis, with a 360-degree view of the city skyline over the course of an evening.

He'll encourage Martha to order the most extravagant meal on the menu, and she won't.

For dessert, the waiter will bring a stemmed crystal glass holding a jeweler's box.

The diamond will be barely a chip, smaller than the accents surrounding her friends' cocktail rings.

She'll cry and say she loves it, and he believes she honestly will.

***

"Pantyhose, that's the secret." Rafael Hidalgo, last year's winner, gives Jonathan advice on how to outlast everyone else. "Gives you support, slows down the blood pooling in your feet."

Jonathan knows this: There's not a chance in hell he'll wear pantyhose, not even for a $15,000 truck.

Rafael's other advice he does take under consideration. Footwear, what to eat, physical training, mental preparation. He'll have an advantage over contestants who are older than their twenties, those who've never worked a farm day to day, but he takes nothing for granted.

He gathers his support system, but he doesn't tell Martha.

***

Twenty-three others turn up at the dealership, their names, like Jonathan's, drawn at random from the hundreds who wanted this chance. Hundreds more are there to watch the whole thing get started: family, friends, reporters, those whose names weren't pulled from the hopper.

This is Smallville's annual fifteen minutes of fame, when news cameras from Metropolis and beyond come to get their snippets of videotape for the last, lighthearted 30 seconds of the broadcast, the part that's supposed to make you forget the war and upheaval and sorrow that went before.

Jonathan remembers last year's footage. Rafael looked ill, haunted.

***

The rules are simple. Keep at least one gloved hand on the truck at all times, while standing under your own power. No squatting, crouching or leaning. Every hour, there's a five-minute break. Every six hours, fifteen minutes.

Simple.

That doesn't mean easy.

Jonathan arrives in the tightest jeans he's ever worn, which is as close to pantyhose as he'll ever get.  He's traded his work boots for well-cushioned running shoes, broken in just enough.

Rafael meets him at the dealership, clucking in disgust at the contestants wearing shorts and flipflops.  "You watch, they'll be gone by midnight."

***

The others are a varied bunch, a couple other farmers, a machinist, a preacher out to win the vehicle for Habitat for Humanity work, a schoolteacher barely scraping by. Last year's star quarterback, home from college for the weekend, a checker at WalMart who had to quit her job to take this chance.

"They _are_ nice people," Rafael says during one of the breaks, "but they will  
screw with your head to win this truck. You can't let them, not if you want this."

"You telling me I have to screw with them?"

"How much do you want this truck?"

***

The physical toll hits him hard. The pain of standing with little relief has risen from his feet and legs into his back. His head aches from sleep deprivation. As Rafael predicted, those who didn't gear up properly are long gone.

Most of the supporters are gone for the night. Abby and Bill Ross left after coming by at midnight with a sandwich and some packets of peanuts to get him through the night.

Eighteen hours. This thing has barely gotten started.

He looks at the white-gloved hands splayed on the truck.

Funny how they all look the same.

***

Coach Walt comes by in mid-morning with a sixpack of Gatorade and some kind of energy bars that half convince Jonathan that there's more profitable uses for his hay. They talk football for a while, but he gets the idea from Coach's flickers of expression that he's not making a helluva lot of sense.

Coach says he'll be back later, maybe bring some of the team around to show their support.

"That'll be great," Jonathan says.

Coach wishes him luck and thumps him on the shoulder so hard Jonathan nearly loses his footing. His hand stays firmly on the truck.

***

"She has a laugh like silver dollars," Jonathan tells Lucy, the teacher. "Bee-stung lips as pretty as any I've seen, and red hair that soaks up the sunlight and turns it into fire. We're going to have a whole tribe of strawberry blonde kids."

Lucy laughs. "I'd have noticed her if I'd seen her. Why isn't she here?"

"I haven't told her I'm here."

"Why on earth not?"

He shrugs. He doesn't want to talk about the desperation of it, his need to prove himself.

Everyone in this showroom is desperate. No one wants to aim a spotlight on it.

***

After a while he forgets Rafael's advice to keep moving, welcoming the numbness spreading through his body.

Five more have gone.

He stands with hands pressed to the window frame on the driver's side, looking into the cab.

All of a sudden everything flips, and a wave of vertigo rolls through him. Fire is raining down from the sky, and Martha cries out. When the world stops spinning, they're hanging upside down from their shoulder harnesses, the truck cocked on its roof.

A small boy, naked as a jay, bends to peer in at them.

A smile lights his face.

***

Jonathan's hallucinations pass, but others fall prey to their own. Eric, the machinist, sees the devil beckoning to him from inside the cab. He backs away from the truck, gloved hands held up in front of him.

Pastor Dave looks at the others, saying, "You four will be in my prayers." Peeling the gloves off his hands, Dave goes after Eric without looking back.

The dealership manager gives up his office for an on-the-spot counseling session. "People get kinda crazy after two nights without sleep," he says, as if this phenomenon is entirely unrelated to him.

Lucy bursts into sobs.

***

Jack swaggers in after the bars close, a blonde on his arm. His grin fades as he sees Jonathan. "This is craziness." He's standing behind the chain that keeps onlookers at a distance. "I'm telling you as a friend, you need to drop out."

Jonathan jabs a finger at Jack. "And I am telling you as a friend, you're not the kind of friend I need right now. I am going to win this truck."

"Jonathan, you look like shit."

"I've looked worse after a fight." Jack's just pissed off that he doesn't live like that anymore.

"No, you haven't."

***

Lucy sings to stay awake. She has the most beautiful voice Jonathan's ever heard. He's convinced she wants the truck to sell so she can try her luck in Nashville or California, but she denies it.

"I _like_ my life here. I sing in the choir and in the Smallville Players' annual musical. That's all I want." She would sell the truck, to buy a more reliable used car, to live without the pinch of school loans.

Her story and those of the others he's coming to know makes him question himself.

Should he lift his hand and walk away?

 

***

The moment he laid eyes on her, Jonathan figured Lucy for one of the first three contestants to drop out, not one of the last three standing. She's short, on the slight side, but it turns out she's surprisingly tough. Marathoner, triathlete, hiker, mountain climber. She talks about how she'd like to attempt Everest, if it didn't take crazy amounts of money to try.

She shouts his name, and Jonathan jolts awake. "Wake up! You're leaning."

Jonanthan straightens, then rises up, looming over her. "_This is my truck,_" he snarls.

Lucy just smiles, sweet as pie. "We'll see about that."

***

Jonathan finds himself in a cave covered in strange petroglyphs. He's never seen this place, but from the smell of the earth and the color of the soil caked on his boots, he's sure it's somewhere local.

In a heartbeat, the dark and chill of the cave give way to light and heat. The brightness fills every shadowy space, yet in its glare Jonathan can see nothing. Streams of light converge on him and he thinks for a second he'll die.

Then it's over. In its wake is boundless power.

_This is how it must feel to be a god._

***

When this hallucination fades, it leaves Jonathan in more intense physical suffering than he's endured. Bill Ross brings his dinner, which Jonathan bolts during his fifteen-minute break, then helps him stumble to the men's room.

"You need to end this," Bill says. "It's like some form of medieval torture."

"Bill, this talk is not what I need right now."

"What you need is your brain to come home from its extended vacation. Take a look at yourself when you go in there."

There's a mirror in there, so the salesmen can check their smiles.

Jonathan avoids looking into it.

***

Lucy's the only other contestant left, and she's lost in her own pain and hallucinations. Jonathan talks to her quietly, telling her to hang on.

He's not sure why.

If she walked away, his own suffering would end and he'd have the prize that's driven him through these ninety sleepless hours. She'll have nothing to show for hers.

It might be the outcome he's after, but it's not one that he wants.

She blinks, seems to regain her focus. "Oh. There she is," she says in wonder, as if she's encountered an angel.

Jonathan follows her gaze, and sees Martha.

***

Martha squeezes past the knots of supporters, gathering in force again as the contest winds down.

"Martha. What are you doing here?"

"I caught you on the news. I just came from Metropolis. Jonathan, why didn't you tell me about this?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise."

"Well, it is. What possessed you?"

_Love_, he thinks. _Fear that I can't give you what you deserve._ He opts for a diversion instead of the truth. "This is Lucy. Lucy, this is Martha."

"Jonathan's been saying the most poetic things about you," Lucy says.

Martha shoots him a look. "He has?"

***

Fifteen minutes until the next break. Jonathan's almost grateful for the time to steel himself to walk toward the chain without staggering or stumbling.

He tumbles into his chair, and she kneels by him. "Jonathan, you look terrible. Let me take you home."

"Sweetheart, I'm doing this for us." He digs in his pocket, pulls out the ring. It glimmers in the showroom lights. "Give me your hand."

She looks at him in confusion.

Taking her hand, Jonathan slips it on her finger. "Martha Clark, will you marry me?"

She throws her arms around him, laughing and crying at once.

***

At the first whistle, Jonathan can barely haul himself out of his chair. He fumbles with the gloves, now dingy gray.

Lucy stays hunched in her chair, weeping. Her family, friends and students surrounding her cry too.

"Lucy," Jonathan says. "Second whistle's about to blow. Come on."

She shakes her head. "I can't."

"Well, you sure as hell can't give up. Not like this. Get up."

"Do it, Lucy," urges her brother.

She struggles to her feet.

"That's it, Lucy. C'mon. Show me what you're made of."

All tears and snot and sweat, she takes her place at the truck.

***

"I can't do this," Lucy 's lasted twenty more minutes, barely holding it together. "I'm done."

"At least you're on your feet," Jonathan answers. "At least if you go out, you do it standing up."

She nods and steps backward, lifting her hands in the air.

It's over.

The silence seems to stretch on forever, until Lucy stumbles toward him and they cling together like survivors of some disaster. Sound crashes over them in waves, cameras flash, then he's pulled away from her for interviews, as if he's a hero of some kind.

Hero. Survivor. Who the hell can say?

***

Jonathan hates the glare of the limelight, however brief, but he realizes he signed up for this.

He hates that he still needs help from the friends who looked after the farm even more. Three days after the contest ends, his lower legs are still swollen, covered in black and blue.

Martha's taken some time off to stay out at the farm. He hates needing help, but loves having her there.

"I was half out of my head most of the last two days," he finally admits. "Did I talk about the future?"

She smiles. "You mean did you propose?"

***

There goes the carefully orchestrated surprise. "Yeah, I guess that's what I mean. I remember asking you to marry me, but I thought maybe I dreamed it."

"No dream," she says, but her smile is, in fact, dreamy. "You asked, I said yes."

Jonathan frowns. "But the ring's still at the jeweler." Being engraved, but that part's a surprise.

"Really? You definitely gave me a ring." Martha fishes in her purse, flips open a breath mint tin. "See?"

Inside there's a twist of silver, a foil gum wrapper curved into a circle.

Jonathan winces. "Guess I was a little crazy."

***

He'd meant to approach Martha's father before his proposal, but he makes the gesture, because that's how he was raised.

The old man is dismissive, uses every secret doubt of Jonathan's as a reason he opposes the marriage. _I will not let my daughter throw her life away by marrying some hick farmer that couldn't possibly support her._

Jonathan keeps his temper in check until the old man puts his hands on him, then he swings a fist.

Martha's undaunted. "He raised me to know what I want. I want you, I want to share your life, raise our children."

***

The wedding's as far from a society wedding as it gets. Pastor Dave performs the ceremony, Lucy sings (though pleasant, hers isn't the angelic voice Jonathan remembered). There's a reception in the church basement, a barn dance at Jack's.

Martha's Metropolis friends are bemused; her family doesn't show.

Two nights' honeymoon in Metropolis, then it's back to the farm.

It's months before the pain leaves his legs, a year before he stops waking to find his hand splayed on top of the nightstand.

He never stops waking to a sense of wonder that Martha's by his side.

His true prize.


End file.
